Memory
by the-speed-reader
Summary: She woke up not eight minutes (eight minutes?) ago with no idea of her idenity, her memory, or anything else. It was as if she was a blank slate; but then he had burst through her door, guns blazing.


_So this is a little SkyeWard AU, involving a situation where Skye looses her memory. It's before Ward became a traitor, so._

_New episode starts in nine minutes! Here's a little bit to keep you guys tied over._

* * *

"_Forbidden to remember, terrified to forget; it was a hard line to walk._" -Stephenie Meyer

* * *

She scrambles against the doorway, her bare feet hitting the floor with a rather harsh slapping sound, her hands following suit as she presses herself tightly to the corner, one hand over her quickly escalating heart rate and the other, shaking violently, holding a gun to the face of her attacker.

It's a man with dark hair and dark eyes, though his expression seems more _I need to escape _than _I'm here to kill you. _She stares at him, her eyes digging into his very being; she's terrified now. She woke up not eight minutes (_eight minutes?_) ago with no idea of her identity, her memory, or anything else. It was as if she was a blank slate; but then _he _had burst through her door, guns blazing, and it was as if instinct had taken over. Her hand has automatically reached for a gun that she had found settled on her hip and she had stumbled, shooting back at him with surprising aim.

And now they were at a standpoint, with both of them aiming the guns at each other. His eyes were boring into her, his mouth set in a firm line. She gulps, hard. She feels like she should know him, but she doesn't.

It's then he speaks, in a low voice that seems to echo along the small room. "Skye?" he asks, his voice filling her thoughts.

Then it's as if that one name, so unfamiliar yet so touching at the same time, unlocks a memory of some sort in her mind, and spots explode across her vision. She winces, her fingers falling loose from the gun. It clatters to the floor, harmless, as she grabs her temple, her head bowing to the floor.

She sees a memory, played on a loop almost, her hands are intertwined with a man whose name she doesn't now, whose face she doesn't see. But his voice, quite the opposite, is echoing through her ears, oddly similar (or perhaps the same) to the man in front of her: _I don't regret what I've done. Not if it means you're safe._

She clenches her teeth, hissing a whistle that enters the air sharply. She can nearly feel his presence getting closer, his feet stepping lightly across the floor as if he was no heavier than a mouse. Her eyes slammed shut as a rather strong flash of pain hit her, forcing her to throw her head back against the wall.

Suddenly there's a hand on her knee, and the pain almost instantly subsides. She looks into the face of a rather handsome man, with sharp eyes and a firm mouth. He's dressed in a battle suit of some sort (_a uniform?_) that has the logo of a misshapen figure on it, something that she can't identify. His free hand, the one not touching her leg, reaches for her cheek.

She flinches as he touches her, his thumb rubbing across her cheek. "Are you alright?" he asks, his voice filling with something that seems to be a mixture of confusion and pain. "Skye, are you okay?"

"Who's Skye?" she responds, her voice shaking, and a flash of an emotion she cannot identify flashes across his eyes, and he jerks away from her.

"Please tell me this is a joke, Skye," he growls, his hand moving for the gun at his hip. She jerks backward, her hands scrambling along the floor for some sort of weapon. But her fingers close around a sharp metal object sticking out from her pocket (_who is she, exactly?) _before lifting it into the air, her hand tightening around the hilt.

He doesn't move for a moment, only stares at her. She can see a rather nasty cut above his left eyebrow and more bruises littered around his face, but otherwise there's no other identifying marks that could force her memories to reveal themselves. She takes a shuddering breath when he steps forward again, her pressing harder against the wall than ever before.

"Stay away from me," she warns in a trembling echo.

It's as if there's a war going through his mind, something that confuses her; how can she read him so intimately, someone who she's never seen before in her life? But then he makes up his mind, holstering his gun to a pocket on his left side and raising his hands in the air.

"I'm friendly," he promises, but every instinct on her body is telling her to _run_. However curiosity gets the better of her and she instead, slowly, lowers the knife.

"Who are you?" she asks, bracing herself against the faded wallpaper in order to lift herself up. But then she flinches when a sharp pain rushes through her hip, causing her to stumble.

He catches her though, strong hands wrapping around middle, careful to avoid her hip. Her hands grasp his upper arms for balance, and she looks into his eyes. They're filled with something very close to protectiveness.

"Thank you," she murmurs, reigning her balance and letting go of him. But he doesn't move, instead keeping her firmly in position.

He tilts her head up, forcing her to look straight at him. "Who am I?" he asks carefully, his voice slow.

She swallows. "Sorry," she resounds back, her voice rather soft. "I dunno."

He clenches his teeth, letting out a curse. But it's then a memory hits, forcing her to clutch her temples, her eyes slamming shut.

"Skye!" she hears, as the memory enters her mind. This time she's in a training area of some sort, slamming her fists into a punch bag. There's a looming figure beside her, forcing her to continue, even when her punches become sloppy.

_You're going to die and leave us out to dry, you know that? _she hears, her head tilting. She can faintly hear the man yelling her name as she falls to the floor on her knees, the pain quickly becoming overwhelming.

But, once again, it subsides when he touches her shoulder, forcing her back into reality.

"Skye," he says, his voice urgent. "What was that?"

"Is my name — Skye?" she asks, deflecting his question. "Who am I? What do I do for a living?"

She manages to stand up now, bracing herself against him again. This time, there's no thank you, but instead he's whispering something harshly in her ear.

"Skye," he's begging her, his voice low. "It's me. Please, please remember."

His change in demeanor startles her, but her thoughts flip. "Who are you?" she asks, her voice spilling into suspicion. "And what do you want with me? Why are we here?"

His hand grips hers, and for a second she freezes. It feels so comfortable, so familiar there, that she almost doesn't want to pull away.

He looks her straight in the eyes, his sharp ones glaring into her. "My name is Grant Ward," he tells her, his voice urgent. "You need to trust me, I'll help you."

And somehow, she does. She doesn't now why, but she does.

* * *

_*crosses fingers* here's to praying that Ward truly isn't HYDRA and is only working undercover and double hoping that SkyeWard is endgame._


End file.
